


Broken

by Necrophagist



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Workplace Relationship, not a hint of angst to be found here, the title is misleading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necrophagist/pseuds/Necrophagist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell requires the assistance of her superior in a matter of utmost importance. Absolute fluffy drivel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yanderu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanderu/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji / Black Butler, or its characters, plot, or content. I write about it merely for fun and gain no profit whatsoever from doing so.
> 
> Written for the prompt 'Broken' as a gift for my fiance, though I rather doubt this was what she had in mind.

Grell Sutcliffe gazed down in utter horror at the shattered pieces of glazed grey and tan pottery at her feet, and at that moment, she saw her life flash before her eyes in spite of her Cinematic Record remaining safely inside her. This was explainable only by the knowledge that what she had done, and the consequences it would surely beget, were far worse than feeling the wrath of another Shinigami’s scythe.  
  
“William!” the red-haired reaper shrieked, scrambling away from the mess on the ground as if it would rear up and bite her. “William, help!”  
  
A few agonizingly long moments later, the infuriatingly (yet somehow also comfortingly) slow and rhythmic footsteps of William Spears’ highly-polished oxford shoes could be heard growing louder at the end of the long hallway. When the massive double doors creaked open, the nonplussed face of the black-haired Shinigami appeared.  
  
“Grell Sutcliffe. What are you doing in the Undertaker’s private office, and why are you screaming? Honestly, don’t you have any semblance of respect for other peoples’… oh my. What _have_ you done?”  
  
His narrowed acid-green eyes had drifted from Grell’s terrified face to the pile of broken fragments lying a few feet away, and his own countenance paled drastically when he realized what this sorry debris had once been.  
  
_Undertaker’s cookie jar._  
  
“I didn’t mean to, William, I swear!” Grell spluttered, her red glasses trembling on their chains as she shook her head with vigor. “I was just looking around - innocently, mind you! - for a spare pen, and… well… my sleeve caught the jar and it…” Her voice trailed off into a frightened squeak as she gestured with shaking hands to what was once the elder Shinigami’s prized possession.  
  
“Surely even you can’t expect me to buy that sorry excuse for… an excuse,” William faltered, his own confidence having been shaken somewhat by the knowledge of the fury that would descend upon them when Grell’s mistake was discovered. “There are scads of spare pens in every single room in the office complex, including yours. Now unless you can spin me a web of lies in which each and every pen in the building was destroyed in some kind of freak accident, there is absolutely no reason for you to be mucking about in Undertaker’s office!”  
  
Grell flinched slightly at the liberal use of slang, knowing William must be truly unnerved to allow his grammatical state to slip so drastically. And if the unflappable William T. Spears was unnerved… well then, the rest of them were doomed.  
  
“Y-yes, well, I couldn’t find any of the other pens! And the Undertaker is always so nice to me and I know he likes me, so I didn’t see any reason not to just pop in and borrow a pen…”  
  
“He does not _like_ you,” William snapped, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he knelt down to gingerly examine the pieces of the jar. “Like the rest of us, he tolerates you, because it is his duty.”  
  
Grell seemed genuinely hurt by this, and she folded her arms and shrunk back a bit, looking at the floor. “Do you think you can fix it?” she asked in a voice that was uncharacteristically quiet.  
  
“I can fix it, certainly,” William said confidently, examining the cracked edges of the pottery shards, “but the question remains if it can be done by the time Undertaker returns from his lunch break.”  
  
Relief and hope flooded the younger reaper’s heart, and she fled to the doors to poke her head out and peer down the hallway. “No sign of him yet!” she called cheerfully, prompting William to quiet her with a sharp “Shhh!”  
  
Placing the broken pieces in a neat pile on the desk, William sat down in the high-backed black leather swivel chair that Undertaker was famous for winning office chair races with. “Grell, fetch my briefcase.”  
  
Saluting with one gloved hand, Grell retrieved William’s leather briefcase from where he had left it just inside the door when he entered the room, and handed it to him. William laid it on the desk by the broken jar and unsnapped it, lifting it open and pulling out a small white bottle of what appeared to be glue.  
  
“You’re just going to glue it back together…?” The disappointment in the redhead’s voice was tangible, then it turned to annoyance. “For heaven’s sake, I could’ve done that without you! I thought _you_ in your _brilliance_ would come up with something that might actually _work_!”  
  
Dismissing Grell’s exclamations with a curt shake of his head, William opened the bottle carefully and unscrewed the lid, using the minuscule brush inside to apply a small amount of clear liquid to the edge of one of the pieces of Undertaker’s jar. Sliding the complimentary piece against it with a satisfyingly gritty sound, William held up the shards to show an open-mouthed Grell that they had once again joined into one piece of pottery, with no sign that they had ever been separate.  
  
“What… how… but…” Grell stammered, her eyes wide with incredulous delight. “How did you do that?”  
  
William glanced at his subordinate for a moment before looking back to the rest of the pieces, which he was rapidly gluing back together, and the redhead could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile cross the older reaper’s lips.  
  
“Let’s just say that after a small mishap with my scythe when I was about your age, I learned to always carry some of this around… just in case.” William returned the lid to its bottle and the bottle to his briefcase, closing the lid with a sharp snap before standing up. “Now, if that’s all you needed, I’ll be returning to my - ”  
  
Before he could finish speaking, Grell leaped forward and threw her arms around William’s neck, kissing him full on the lips. “Thank you so much, William,” she whispered, letting go and taking a step or two back. “My arse would be hanging over Undertaker’s fireplace at home if you hadn’t saved it.”  
  
William stood paralyzed for a moment, his briefcase falling to the floor and his cheeks flushing a deep red. When Grell pulled away, he plunged a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew a handkerchief, which he used to wipe something off of his mouth that tasted suspiciously like strawberry lip balm.  
  
“No need for such crudities,” he said formally, his face returning to its previous state of pallid unconcern as he picked up his fallen briefcase. “Get back to work before you force me to report you for slacking.”  
  
Grell nodded solemnly and watched as William, without looking back, strode out of the office and shut the double doors behind him. After waiting until the steady clacking of the oxford shoes had faded into echoing silence, the redhead began to giggle.  
  
“Perhaps I should be clumsy more often.”


End file.
